


This Car Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us

by lysiabeth



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Dealing With Trauma, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roadtrip, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysiabeth/pseuds/lysiabeth
Summary: He wasn’t a temporary King Pin of the Gotham underworld for nothing. Jason is methodical and obsessive and clean and careful, at least in the business of being Red Hood, and the last thing he needs is every lost and broken ex-vigilante knocking on his front door for… Whatever this was with Connor. An impending migraine, possibly, with the twitching of Jason’s left eye, but he could probably put that off until after he needed to go on patrol tonight.Or: how to get your amnesiac childhood best friend smuggled into Gotham City without either of your dads finding out.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between when Connor has been AWOL from DC comics, red hood and arsenal broke up after rha, Jason wasn’t on a team with Artemis and Bizzaro, but has been on a team with Donna Troy and Kyle Rayner. So like… Who knows, in terms of continuity, really.
> 
> Also on the belief that Connor and Jason were friends when Jay was Robin bc this is a secret santa fic and by that logic I can do what I want :)

Connor Hawke arrived in Jason’s life carrying nothing but a stolen bow and arrow, twenty-three dollars in cash, and a stolen car. As far as Tuesday’s go, Jason has definitely had weirder, but the point of him being in the middle of nowhere out in Colorado was that so he couldn’t be scouted by other members of the vigilante or outlaw community - especially the ones who were missing-suspected-dead.

 

“Uh… Hey.” Connor says, like the two of them are acquaintances or - God forbid - friends, and Jason just blinks down at the guy (blinks down, because he’s shorter, this is important), and then Connor Hawke is passing out like some damsel in a nineteenth century Gothic novel, right on Jason’s doorstep.

 

Jason doesn’t even live here. He’s been borrowing this place after the real owner wanted to repay him for getting rid of some low-rate gang hanging around, and the derelict warehouse he’d been staying in had left him feeling musty and unrested whenever he left it. He’s practically off-radar, nothing but a distant memory in the lives of the life he left behind not too long ago, but clearly Connor Hawke didn’t get that.

 

He’s easy to drag into the apartment, at least. Can’t be heavier than 170 pounds wet and limp in Jason’s arms, but Jason makes a show of grunting as he discards him on the couch, looks over him for any suspected life threatening injuries, and then throws a blanket over him for good measure.

 

Never let it be said that Jason can’t be hospitable.

  
  
Jason had always thought that any green thing in peril coming to him for help would end up being Rayner. The guy attracts bad luck like a moth to light, and he’s at least seen him in the past two years. Jason can’t even remember the last time he’d seen Connor; is sure it wasn’t even when they were suited up, maybe back when Bruce and Oliver were needed for something, not Green Arrow and Batman, but his memories swim around like an early morning dream on a good day, so he can’t say for sure.

 

Jason sighs. Looks down at the comatose figure on his couch, cracks his knuckles, and then sits himself gingerly at Connor’s feet and pulls the laptop he’d borrowed from Roy a few months back and – shit. Roy. Jason’s got his brother that they’d all been through a mourning process for in the few years he had been MIA, and Jason isn’t sure if he’s at any liberty to call up his best friend and say something along the lines of, “Hey, buddy, I know we haven’t really spoken since I kind of blew up at you after you almost died, but I think I’ve found your dead brother except he’s alive, and also in Colorado. What do you want me to do about that?”

 

He grumbles to himself. Thinks maybe Bruce was right, back when he always made Oliver believe he had no time for him and his Green Arrow business, citing how he was always too much trouble and not enough help for his attention. Green Arrows, always seeming to end up under one's nose in some intrusive manner.

 

Jason hesitates over his laptop keyboard, before he types in Connor’s name. There are old news articles, talking about his disappearance, about Queen family drama and even some stuff about Roy coming up. He runs a hand through his hair, notes that it’s on the greasy leaning into gross territory, and with a huff pulls the laptop closed with a ‘snap’. He should shower; figures that if Connor’s still breathing now then he can do to stay on the couch unattended for the twenty or so minutes it will take Jason to get into something resembling clean clothes, and with one final scrutinising glance at the sleeping figure on his couch, Jason brings himself to standing and makes his way to the bathroom.

 

Despite the urge to slam the door like he usually would, he takes extra care on closing it with nothing more than a small squeak of the hinges, and Jason has to ask himself why it’s always him.

 

\---------------

 

Connor is standing in the middle of the lounge when Jason emerges from his shower, towel draped across his neck and chest stinging from how hot he had the water.

 

“Oh.” Connor says, swallows audibly as he turns to face Jason, and Jason pauses where he’s stood, slowly bringing his arms up to cross them over his chest.

 

He’s somewhat aware of Connor’s enhanced abilities. Jason’s on edge about ninety-eight percent of the time, but having Connor and his haphazard kit of arrows in easy reach just chilling, somewhat out of it in the middle of his living room, is putting him on more edge than usual.

 

“Honestly, I’m at a loss for words.” Jason admits, has absolutely no inclination to lead whatever conversation this is going to turn into, and Connor… Shrugs. He looks somewhat sheepish, perhaps even guilty, and Jason just continues to stare.

 

Maybe, and this is just a hope, he’ll stare long enough to will Connor out of his apartment again, but seconds pass and neither of them make a move to do anything. Jason huffs, irritated now, and clenches his fists where they’re pressed against his biceps.

 

“Connor. Or… Green Arrow?” Fuck, “Dude, you realise everyone thinks you’re dead, right?” Jason asks, and that seems to invoke some kind of reaction from the man in front of him; a soft sound, but pained, his face scrunching and shoulders hunching slightly. Jason feels a little bit like a dick; knows a little bit about how this feels, coming back to a world you remember but everything have changed around you and people grown up while you stayed stagnant. The line of his back relaxes a little, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to comfort, and Connor twiddles his thumbs.

 

“You uh… Look different, last I saw you.” He mumbles, and Jason’s about to bite back something sarcastic, but Connor brings his hands up to his eyes and pushes his palms up against them; Jason, sort of horrified, realises he’s crying.

 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay, you’re okay.” He says, feet carrying him before he registers what’s going on, and then he’s by Connor’s side and hesitantly running a hand up the guy’s arm.

 

He’s taken off the oversized jacket he was wearing, skin perfect despite the lifestyle he lives. It reminds Jason of his own skin, after the Pit, where scars from even before he was Robin had disappeared, the only ones left behind on his body the Y on his front. Connor lets out a shaky breath.

 

“I’m… I don’t even— I saw you, in the news. Something about you seemed familiar so I followed you here. I can’t—There’s stuff missing. I feel like there’s other things I should be remembering, even just seeing you brought back all these memories I didn’t even know I had.” Connor explains, and Jason startles; it sounds like the cut and paste of the psyche of an amnesiac, and Jason only recognises it because that was him.

 

“Just… Hey, sit down. I’m gonna… Get some water. For you.” He says, practically manhandles Connor until he’s sitting on the couch, his hands lingering on the guys shoulders probably a bit longer than necessary – but you never know, he could be unstable, Jason’s just making sure he won’t flop to the floor – and then he’s feeling to the kitchen.

 

The sound of the old tap masks his own panicked breaths; he fills the glass up enough for him to take a few of his own gulps, holds the empty glass in his hand as he rests his head against his forearm.

 

Okay, he thinks. No big deal. Just a possible amnesia case in a guy he hasn’t seen since before he had died, who has come to him because he think he can help him, despite the fact that Jason is a wanted criminal with no contacts to anyone who is equipped to deal with this and no clear coping mechanisms of his own.

 

It’s fine.

 

He fills the glass again, grips it tight to stop the shaking of his hands, and hopes Connor isn’t worried about them sharing the one glass Jason actually has in this place as he makes his way back to the lounge. Connor’s staring blankly at his hands, doesn’t even seem to register Jason approaching until he holds the glass in his line of vision.

 

Their hands touch as Connor takes the glass, and Jason watches him take one gulp, two, until the glass is finished and sat empty in Connor’s grip, the boy still not meeting Jason’s eye.

 

“You… It was you and Roy I saw in the news. An old article, I think, I don’t really know. I couldn’t go back to him though, not after everything with Oliver.” Connor starts, voice ten folds steadier than it had been a few minutes earlier, and Jason just nods at him even though Connor’s gaze is still glued to his hands.

 

“Anyways, that was a few months ago. Once I realised I was missing some memory I just kinda… Went undercover, I guess. Figured some time alone would help everything come back; it did, in some ways, but there’s these gaps like giant gaping holes, or there’s some memories that I can’t tell if they’re memories or I made them up or if I maybe dreamed them or…” He takes another breath, lifts his head, eyes glancing at Jason quickly before over to the pillow on the end of the couch.

 

“Anyways, there was something about a guy with a Bat on his chest getting involved in the criminal world here; I remember Bruce, League stuff mostly, but then I thought I’d see what he was up to these days. Came across you— I uh, it took some time to put together who you were, but when I looked back at the first article I’d seen with you and Roy it seemed viable that Batman’s dead Robin could be the Red Hood.” He explained. Jason was stumped, really. People with their full brains and memories working together couldn’t even piece that together, but then again; Connor had been his friend, once, back when he ran around in tights and Dick and Roy were glued at the hip and things were good.

 

Jason clears his throat.

 

“So you… Came here for what, help? I hate to break it to you, but Roy and I aren’t exactly talking at the moment.” Jason says, hates how that feels like an ice cold knife has been shoved into his back.

 

But whatever. Rather him than his only friend on earth right now getting hurt or worse because of him.

 

“I— Honestly I don’t know. I was gonna try make it back to Star City myself, seek out Ollie or Dinah but last night I was out looking into something and I ended up in a bit of a tussle and the next thing I knew I was on your doorstep.” Connor explains which, hm, problem, because Jason knows for a fact that not even Oracle knows he’s here, so how the hell does Connor Freaking Hawke of all people know?

 

He wasn’t a temporary King Pin of the Gotham underworld for nothing. Jason is methodical and obsessive and clean and careful, at least in the business of being Red Hood, and the last thing he needs is every lost and broken ex-vigilante knocking on his front door for… Whatever this was with Connor. An impending migraine, possibly, with the twitching of Jason’s left eye, but he could probably put that off until after he needed to go on patrol tonight.

 

Hopefully.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to be insensitive when I say this it’s just…” Jason sighs, through his nose, feels like all the tension is his body goes out with that one breath of air, “I don’t know what you’re expecting. I’m really not in a position to play therapist and I’m kind of dealing with my own stuff in relation to your family and my, well, the Batman and the twelve other kids he’s taken under his wing since I’ve been gone. So, why don’t I get you in touch with someone who can help and I have some cash I can give you and then send you on your merry way.” Jason says, knows it’s a major dick move, but he feels like there’s a giant band around him compressing his chest and legs and head and arms, and the quicker he can get Connor out of here the quicker that band will release.

 

Connor’s face looks broken, eyes wide and lips parted and nose scrunched, and Jason has fallen for the charms of one arrow-slinger in the past; he’s not doing it again.

 

“I… Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry, you probably think I’m this gigantic weirdo. Sure.” Connor says, grips the glass tight in his hand – Jason wonders if he’s strong enough to crush it, how enhanced are those abilities of his – and then he stands. The two of them seem to hesitate, Jason going one way and Connor following, the two of them pausing and starting again and pausing.

 

Jason huffs. Stays put, as Connor finally moves again; passes the glass to Jason, picks up his things off the couch, and makes his way to the door.

 

Jason’s inner voice is screaming at him, this is wrong, so so wrong, this guy thinks Jason of all people could help so it’s clear his brain is fried, he’s reaching for the door handle God damnit say something—

 

“Wait.” Jason bites out, eyes shutting tight. Connor’s boots squeak on the cheap flooring, and when Jason opens his eyes Connor is staring at him with a quirked brow and something like a hopeful look on his face.

 

“There’s… I know someone. They could—” Jason waves his arms over Connor’s general disposition. “Help. Maybe. I don’t know but it could be worth a try.” Jason says, and Connor hesitates.

 

“Look, I know what it feels like when you can’t make sense of anything or anyone and you feel alone in the world and like everything is going to fall out from underneath you. You came to me for a reason, though I’d argue that was a bad reason and you and Roy both seriously need help when it comes to finding allies because if both of you are coming to me then that truly speaks volumes about your psyche, but I can’t leave you like this. On second thought, that is, even though I just said...” Jason trails off, notices the smile pulling at the corner of Connor’s mouth.

 

“Just go shower, dude. Or whatever. I don’t know. I’m gonna make a call.” Jason says, and busts his way out of his lounge into his room-slash-weapons artillery, pushing himself up against his closed door as he counts himself down from fifty.

 

He gets to eighteen when he feels like he isn’t about to jump out of his skin, sinks into a sense of ‘relaxed’ for a second, and then makes his way over to the one set of drawers in this entire flat, digging around in the third one up on the left for the burner phone taped under the false bottom of it.

 

He never thought he’d use this number, not again, and not for something like this, but Jason knows better than anyone that life sometimes just throws shit at you that you can’t always miss the stench of.

 

The dial tone takes forever, Jason worried that maybe the cell had been cut off from service, but then it begins ringing. He’s giving up hope, nervous energy coursing through his veins and the sound of the shower turning on in the room across from him setting up the hairs on the back of his neck, and he’s just about to end the call and chuck the battery of the damn cell out of the window when the tone clicks, and he hears someone breathing down the other line.

 

“I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I need your help.”


	2. Two

Jason doesn’t have much in the way of food; some packet things that can last forever in a cupboard, a broccoli that’s more yellow than green, some carrots from the market he’d dragged himself past after a bad night as they were setting it up the weekend before.

 

Connor is sat on the couch again, admittedly looking a lot better than he had that morning, dressed in his own pants but curled under a hoodie of Jason’s that he admittedly hasn’t fit into in the past year or so. But the wash had also made other things apparent, like the deep circles under his eyes and the chunk of hair at the back of his skull that was shorter than the rest of it for reasons unknown, how the guy was shivering despite it being the middle of one of Colorado’s driest – but stickiest – summers in years.

 

“I can make uh… Ramen, or mac and cheese. Both from packets though, so not really anything of spectacular nutritional value, but food at the least.” Jason calls over, and Connor just lifts his head at him. He’s kind of gormless looking, sometimes, but in a way that Jason thinks of words like ‘cute’, and that is something he does not want to investigate in that moment, so Jason just raises one brow at him.

 

“Mac and cheese? Only if you didn’t want that though.” Connor answers, and the truth is Jason did want the mac and cheese, but he figures Connor maybe needs it more than him, so he makes quick work of pouring the milk and water into the bowl and placing it in the microwave, while he heats up his ramen in a pot over the stove.

 

He figures he probably has to do a real grocery shop now, if Connor’s going to be staying with him, and his mind flicks back to the conversation from earlier.

 

Talia’s voice had been surprised as she answered, voice up ticking when she had said “I wasn’t expecting a call from you.”

 

Jason had picked at the hem of his shirt and shrugged.

 

“I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I need your help.” He’d said, didn’t miss Talia’s interested ‘hmm’ at the other end.

 

“What kind of help?” She had asked, and that’s what Jason loved about Talia – never one to ask too many questions, could understand that sometimes when people asked for her aid that’s all they were asking for; all other details were irrelevant unless stated beforehand.

 

“I have a… friend. Showing signs of amnesia, but he has prior conditions of advanced physical capabilities.” Jason starts, doesn’t want to give away too much. He loves Talia, truly, akin to a way a son would love his mother, but he’s no fool; He knows the kind of people Talia has in her circles, as she knows the people he has in his.

 

“That indeed is interesting, something like that generally shouldn’t happen. But the brain, as incredible as it is, can still reach its limits. You’re not in Gotham still?” She asks, prodding in her own way. He knows that’s a loaded question; because asking about Gotham is really asking about Bruce, and Damian, and Bruce and Damian, and Jason’s continued distance from his father and extended family and the issues with Red Hood.

 

Jason glosses over it entirely for that reason.

 

“I know, I found it unexpected but not entirely surprising. I wondered if you had any contacts nearby Colorado, where we could go for help. The— My friend, he’s also on a fair few missing persons files. It’s a sensitive issue.” Jason explains, can hear the shower shut off from the other room. He drops his voice, even though he’s sure eavesdropping isn’t even on Connor’s radar.

 

Talia is silent. Jason’s used to it by now.

 

“Bruce has many friends in high places, many of which have dealt with things like this.”

 

“Talia.” Jason warns, doesn’t want to get into this with her now but will if he has to, and the woman just sighs deeply at him through the phone.

 

“Fine, fine. I’ll drop it if I must. In Colorado… Hm, no. The closest person I have is in upper New York. She’s retired, but she’s one of the best and owes me a favour anyways.” Talia tells him; Jason doesn’t like that, because New York is a little too close to Gotham for his own liking, but…

 

So is Star City. Star City, where Connor’s family still lives, who’ll probably want to see him once he gets fixed up again. Jason grits his teeth, the decision already made for him.

 

“Thank you, Talia.” He told her, and she hummed in response before he hung up on her, something settling in his chest.

 

The beeping of the microwave pulls Jason out of his daydreams, his noodles also noticeably soggy where they’ve been boiling in the water too long. He swears, turns off the stove top before pulling out the steaming bowl out of the microwave. It’s mostly cooked through, hasn’t even spilt over the edges into a puddle of cheesy goop for Jason to clean up later, so he stirs a fork through it once for good measure, dishes up his own ramen, and slowly makes his way to the couch where Connor is still sat.

 

The coffee table is fucked, stained to hell and picked out from behind some bar in town Jason had come across after he had first got the apartment, but Alfred had raised him better than to forget coasters on table tops. Connor makes a noise in the back of his throat as he watches Jason juggle the two bowls, and cutlery, and coasters, but makes no moves to help. It’s weird; by this point Roy would have been niggling at him about his good boy etiquette and cooking skills and probably even the brand of ramen he was using, but Connor is quiet.

 

Uncharacteristically so. The Connor he remembers was harmless and loud and funny and… Present. Even if you weren’t talking to him, his presence made you aware of him, a dashing smile behind full lips and golden hair and bright eyes and dark skin and a charm that rivalled Jason’s cheek. Gave Ollie a run for his money, Dick had said once, while he and Roy stood against some marble bar top sipping out of champagne flutes while Jason had managed to escape from Bruce’s gaze for five whole minutes at some gala Alfred had wheedled Dick into attending.

 

That had been just a few weeks before Albania. It’s one of Jason’s clearest memories, admittedly, how that morning Alfred had rushed out to the tailor’s because it had come to his attention that Jason’s recent growth spurt had left his old tuxedo practically defunct. Bruce and he were in some sort of tense silent game, had been for days, and it wasn’t until later that night when Bruce had been cornered by one of the wide-eyed Gothamites trying to flirt with him that Jason had felt pity on him and gone to pull him away for a “family emergency”, the fight forgotten by the time they’d stepped through the Manor doors an hour later.

 

Jason swallows and brings his bowl onto his lap, even though it’s still far too hot, and focuses on that feeling instead of the pricking in his eyes. He hates that, hates how sometimes the sadness can push out the anger and adrenaline and threaten to rip at his seams.

 

Connor has his bowl on his lap too, but he’s not eating. Instead, Jason notices, somewhat self-conscious, he’s looking at him.

 

“Something on my face?” Jason asks, noodles half way up to his mouth, and Connor startles, like he hasn’t even realised he’s looking at Jason.

 

“You… Your eyes flickered green. But like, really green.” Connor says, and Jason’s stomach drops.

 

“They do that, yeah.” He admits, because they do – when his emotions run too high. Ra’s gets homicidal, but Jason’s eyes flash like the ring on Kyle Rayner’s hand and his hands shake like he’s had nothing but five shots of coffee for the day.

 

Connor nods.

 

“How come?” He asks, picks out a piece of macaroni on his fork and eyes it before deciding it’s good enough to eat. Jason doesn’t want to have this conversation, ramen already feeling unappetising as does everything whenever the Pit is brought up.

 

“Just because. Resurrection stuff, it’s fine.” Jason explains, tries to deflect as much as possible, and Connor opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but Jason just bows his head to look at his ramen, hopes Connor will get the message. Not interested.

 

Either he’s not as pushy as his brother or his hunger gets the best of him, because Jason can only hear the sounds of his fork squelching in the mac and cheese sauce, and the rest of their meals are ate in silence, Jason’s head buzzing in the way that definitely means a migraine is on its way.

 

He has no pain killers, hasn’t bothered to stock up on any since he ran out of his emergency stash, but him and Connor’s conversations aren’t going anywhere and he isn’t all that keen to leave him in the apartment alone, so he may just feign tiredness and go to his bedroom. Not that he’ll sleep early, but still.

 

“So uh… What’s the plan?” Connor asks sometime later when Jason is quietly washing the dishes and Connor is scrutinizing his arrows. Jason wipes his hands on his pants and rests his palms against the bench top.

 

“Plan for what?” Jason asks, can feel his pulse in his eyeballs, the dim light in the cheap lightbulb ahead almost too much.

 

“Just with… Me. Us. This whole thing. I heard you on the phone, sort of, so just wondered…” Jason shoots Connor a look then. He doesn’t mean for it to be nasty, but that’s the kind of stuff that always pissed him off about Bruce and Roy; always in his business, even if they thought it was for his own good, butting their noses in where it wasn’t wanted.

 

Connor holds up his hands in surrender.

 

“Sorry, it wasn’t intentional. My hearing’s just a little better than most other people’s.” Connor explains, which, yeah. It is. Roy had told Jason not everything about Connor, but enough, back when they were still talking. Jason sighs, bows his head and rolls his shoulders.

 

“There’s a woman in upper New York. I have it on good authority that she might be able to help.” Jason explains. Connor pulls at a loose thread on the sleeve of Jason’s hoodie.

 

“New York, huh?” He asks, voice quiet and defensive. Jason can understand that, at least.

 

“I know it’s… It’s not optimal. But I don’t know what else to do.” Jason explains. It dawns on him how crazy this is. He should have kicked Connor out, or ditched while he was sleeping. Since when does he help every straggler that comes through his doorway, he has to ask himself, but there’s a knowing tugging in his gut telling him that he never stopped doing exactly that.

 

Connor pulls the thread loose.

 

“I kinda… Don’t have money. Or ID. I’m also kinda dead? Or missing, legally at least, and I don’t want my reunion with my family to be because of a blip on the airport security system.” Connor says, finally, as Jason sinks his hands back into the now tepid water, washing the last of the utensils from throughout the day. Jason huffs a laugh at that, which gets him a perplexed look from Connor in return.

 

“Yeah, dude. I know exactly how you feel on that one.”


	3. Three

They leave two days later, Jason reluctantly pulling funds out of his emergency bank account he’s so far managed to keep out of anyone else’s knowledge. He barters some guy down for a simple but clean and apparently well running Toyota hatchback, packs up a duffel bag with enough clothes to last him and Connor what he hopes is at max a three-day trip, and packs another bag full of guns, a kevlar vest, and his red hood.

 

Connor just cracks a smile, tells him he’ll pay him back for the gas once Ollie finishes with what he suspects will be several different DNA tests to confirm it’s really him and gives him access to a debit card again, and they set off.

 

“You don’t strike me as the type who drives.” Connor says, about an hour into the trip. He’d dozed most of the way out of the central city, the coffee he’d bought with his twenty-three dollars half full and cold in the console between them, and Jason has one hand on the wheel and the other one on his cheek, his elbow resting on the window.

 

He doesn’t realised Connor’s even spoken until a few seconds later, his own exhaustion and the leftover buzzing in his head making it hard to concentrate.

 

“It’s not all grapple hooks, you know. Sometimes there aren’t enough tall buildings for them to be optimal.” Jason says, pulls himself off his resting spot and tries to sit up straight. That gets a smile from Connor, if only a small one.

 

“No I mean, like the leather jacket and floppy hair. Total motorbike vibes, dude.” Connor explains, and Jason has to refrain from brushing his hand through his hair at the mention of it. He isn’t wearing the jacket though, but it’s in the reflection of his rear-view mirror, sat on top of his bags in case they needed to make a quick getaway from the car.

 

“Hrrm.” Jason replies, for lack of a better one, and he thinks that’s the end of the conversation, but Connor pipes up five minutes later about it again.

 

“Seriously, where’d you learn to drive? Robin disappeared when you were like, what, fifteen? Sixteen? And it doesn’t seem like the Red Hood and Batman were on great terms when you came back, so forgive me if I can’t imagine you two hanging out on the weekends for driving lessons.” Connor says, and that image shouldn’t make Jason laugh – him and Bruce behind the wheel of some expensive SUV of his, but both dressed in their costumes, Bruce snapping about safe following distances and checking your blind spot as they go. Instead, it kind of pinches; just another experience he never got to have, stolen from him like countless others.

 

“He taught me to drive the Batmobile, years back. It’s not so different from a car.”

 

Connor snorts. “Oh, my God. That’s like the most Jason thing you’ve said these past two days.” Which, Jason knows is meant to be nothing but a good-natured comment, but it makes something heavy settle in his stomach.

 

Discomfort.

 

“I had just got my permit, before I left. I don’t know if I can remember how to drive, though. I googled it, asked what would happen if someone with suspected memory loss tried to drive but it didn’t say much. It’s kind of all muscle memory though, right?” Connor asks, though mostly to himself, but it gets Jason thinking. A time before the pit but after his death, where the memories are the haziest, but he recalls picking up batons and knives and could use them with ease or block an attempt of an attack without having to think about it and would know his own defence before he’d even finished the first moves.

 

Muscle memory, ingrained in him for years as Robin, used again but under Talia and the league, refined to almost perfection after the Pit as he trained to become the Red Hood.

 

“I guess so. Happened to me.” Jason shrugs, though that isn’t entirely true. Connor’s looking at him again, his face a mirror of when they were sat eating dinner the other night, and Jason knows his eyes are probably green again.

 

“How come you don’t just take me where you went to get better?” Connor asks, and the thought makes Jason physically jerk; car swerving over into the other lane slightly, luckily so early in the morning the other drivers on the freeway are far and in between. Connor startles as Jason corrects his steering, and he clenches his jaw tight.

 

Jason doesn’t know why, but the fear that creeps up his throat; disgust, even, at the thought of someone like Connor struggling against the waters of the Lazarus Pit, makes him feel sick to his own stomach.

 

“Because you don’t go there to get better.” Jason says, voice clipped, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Connor swallows, and slowly turns his head out of the window. Jason isn’t sure if this is the best idea anymore – should have called Talia and just asked her for a car to cart Connor off the New York by himself, left Jason alone in his apartment once again for him to continue licking his own wounds and making a name for himself away from the East Coast. He keeps his eyes on the road, tries to calm down and will his hands not to clam up.

 

Another hour passes before Connor makes another noise. He’s fallen asleep, sometime between fiddling with the three channels on the radio that seemed to work in their vicinity and fiddling with the air conditioning that either blew at full fan speed or the speed of someone blowing their breath on you from their own mouth. The sound he makes is like a whimper; Jason thinks maybe he’s stifling a yawn or something, but when he flicks his eye over he sees Connor hunched against the window, trembling, eyes closed.

 

He makes another sound, and this one is more like a sob.

 

“Connor?” Jason asks, sends him another quick look, and indicates to merge into the lane closest to the shoulder. Connor jolts, all violent, and wakes with a start.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Jason says, checks his mirrors before turning to look at the man sat beside him. He’s breathing deeply, eyes bright, hair mussed. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin, and he’s pressing his nails flat into his palms.

 

“You’re okay. You remember where we are? Who I am?” Jason asks. He doesn’t know much about the amnesia, he realises. Knows that Connor can pick out things from when he was five years old but can then forget what he’d been up to a week ago. Can talk for hours about Dinah and Mia but the next hour struggle to form Oliver’s name on his lips.

 

“I— Yeah? Yeah. You’re Jason.” Connor says, voice shaking, and Jason nods. It’s a small victory, at least, and Jason’s heart beat slows just a little at the reassurance.

 

“Sorry, I should have mentioned. Nightmares. Like every fuckin’ time I close my eyes.” Connor says, but his shoulders have relaxed, and he sits back in the passenger seat, instead of ramrod straight. Jason nods.

 

“I get you. It’s fine.” Jason says, doesn’t want to offer any more than that, but he should know by now that Connor doesn’t do anything by halves.

 

“It’s like… I don’t know. I think they’re real sometimes, you know? I read this thing ages ago, like about how sometimes people dream about falling off buildings and you always wake up because the fear can cause you to have a heart attack in your sleep if you don’t. I’m waiting for the day I don’t wake up, to be honest.” Connor admits, and it makes Jason’s throat tighten. Again. He doesn’t know how much more he can take of this.

 

“Yeah.” He replies, doesn’t want to think he’s not interested but he really doesn’t want to be, because everything Connor talks about feels just a little too close to home for Jason to deal with. He’s been fine the past four years of his life dealing with his trauma alone; he doesn’t need one thing trying to tip that all over.

 

“How long we got to go?” Connor asks, a quick change in topic. Jason flicks his eyes at the clock on the car dashboard, at his phone set on Google Maps on the Bluetooth holder, and presses his lips together.

 

“Seven hours? I wanted to just drive straight through, quicker we get to New York the quicker you get better, right?” Jason asks. He has plans to stay in Lincoln overnight, Nebraska, close enough to Iowa state lines to be in Ohio by the end of tomorrow, if all goes well. Connor makes a sound.

 

“What? That not okay with you?” Jason asks; doesn’t know why he’s so defensive, why he’s so sensitive to every reaction of Connor’s. Connor just shakes his head.

 

“No, not at all. I just— I mean, you’re gonna drive all this way and not even stop off at some trashy tourist spots? Grab some postcards or a seven-eleven slushie or something?” Connor asks, like he’s genuinely curious or something, and Jason shrugs.

 

“Not really on my mind, no. Figured you’d want this over and done with.” Jason says, but also because he wants this over and done with too. Has a feeling that the longer he hangs around with Connor then things are just gonna get weirder. He already has a strained relationship with one of Oliver Queen’s sons – he doesn’t want to make it a two for two.

 

“Oh.” Is all Connor says to that. Dejected, kind of, hands placed in his lap and head now turned out of the window. Jason sighs.

 

“Next time you see a sign for a gas station, can we stop? I need the bathroom.” Is all Connor says next, head still turned away from the window, and Jason nods. He thinks, as his eyes flick over his phone screen, that maybe he had been a little ambitious in trying to pack their cross-country travels into three days.


	4. Four

Connor is silent as they make their way out of the car. It’s only just gone eight-thirty, having left Jason’s apartment at about five that morning. His first coffee has worn off, his eyes are burning, and he’s feeling a bit erratic.

 

He thinks back to when he used to sneak out of the manor with his emergency packet of cigarettes, sometimes just the smell of the nicotine enough to calm him down. Watched the smoke curl up from around his fingers into the air, the embers burning away the tobacco. He’d had to ration them, towards the end of the pack, knew that Bruce would be suspicious of any purchases at convenience stores for that exact reason, and on his last cigarette he had breathed the first drag in deeply, right up until he thought his lungs could burst with it.

 

A voice had interrupted him, scaring the absolute shit out of him, and Alfred had stood there, plant cutters in one hand and garden gloves in the other, a face like thunder.

 

“Master Jason.” He had scolded, watched as Jason had fumbled and tried to put out the cigarette quickly. It was too late; that man could catch anything, his eyes boring into Jason’s hand where he hid the half-finished cigarette and lighter, before Jason sulked and held them out to Alfred’s outstretched hand.

 

He’s itching for one now, knows that Bruce can’t stop him from going up to the counter and asking the girl behind it to hand over the cheapest twenty pack they have in stock, just because he can, but his eyes catch on the slushie machine just next to the tobacco drawers.

 

Connor is still in the bathroom, Jason has a wad of fifties in his back pocket, and he’s curious. What _does_ a bubblegum slushie taste like?

 

“Hey.” He says, smiles at the girl who’s trying to text on her phone that’s hidden under the desk.

 

“Hey.” She says back, gives him a half-assed smile.

 

“Uh… Two slushies. One bubblegum and one orange, thanks.” He says. She raises her brow at him; probably wonders why the guy with a faded black eye and dirtied Henley wants with slushies, but she nods and pushes herself off the bench, makes herself busy with fumbling around with the plastic cups. Jason senses a presence behind him and flicks his eyes behind him. Connor is some feet away, one hand on his hip while the other spins the cheap postcard rack around to look at it. The girl slaps one bright blue cup on the benchtop, pulls Jason’s attention back to her, and then she’s finished with the orange one, calling up his order on the till. He passes her a bill, tries to send her a non-threatening smile when she gives him the once over for having that much cash on hand, and then the till is opening with a ‘ding’.

 

“Hey, uh. How much for the postcards?” he asks, voice low so Connor can’t hear it, and the girl taps a finger on the computer screen.

 

“Two bucks for the big ones, one twenty-five for the small one.”

 

“Do you wanna keep the coin change and let me get away with grabbing two or three of the big post cards for your trouble?” Jason asks, voice sickly sweet, and the girl shrugs.

 

“Sure, man. You want a loyalty card with your order? You get your tenth slushie or sixth coffee free, and we’re nationwide.” She says, points to the stack of cards in front of him, and Jason hesitates before picking one up from the stack.

 

“Thanks.” He tells her, and genuinely means it, and the girl just waves him out of the store as he picks up the rest of his change and tries to balance the slushies on one hand as he picks out three of the least tacky postcards on the stack.

 

Connor raises his eyebrows at him when he sees Jason approaching the car.

 

“Do me a favour, grab these while I get the keys out?” Jason asks, holding out the slushies, and Connor takes them wordlessly, watching as Jason fumbles with the keys to unlock the car. He rounds the car and catches Connor’s eyes over the top of the car roof.

 

“What?” Jason asks, postcards still in his other hand.

 

“It’s like, not even nine in the morning.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You bought slushies.” Connor says, holds the two of them up to emphasize his point, and Jason shrugs.

 

“Let em melt, then, you’ll have soda by lunchtime.”

 

“Jason…” Connor makes a frustrated noise after Jason’s name, and Jason sighs.

 

“You wanna do this in the middle of this parking lot, Hawke?” He asks, doesn’t even mean to last name him but does it anyways, and Connor scowls.

 

“Do what? Ask why you’re being so weird?” Connor asks, which. Rude.

 

“I’m not being weird. This is my natural personality.”

 

“Yeah? Well no offense, but your natural personality is kind of dry. Like talking to a brick wall sometimes, except if a brick wall had repressed trauma and the emotional range of a goldfish.” Connor says, and Jason doesn’t know why, but that hits a sore nerve.

 

In fact, who is he kidding. He knows exactly why.

 

“Kind of rich, coming from the guy who was supposedly dead. And can’t remember shit.” Jason says, and Connor places the slushies gently on either side of his head on top of the car. For some reason, that pisses off Jason even more.

 

“Which is why we’re doing this, right? We’re going to see someone who can help me figure out what the hell is going on.”

 

“I don’t see why you don’t know what the hell is going on, man. This is weird, even for vigilante levels of fucked up.” Jason says.

 

“You didn’t have to help me. It was you two days ago who changed their mind about kicking me out of their place. I’m here because of you.” Connor accuses, and… He’s not wrong. Kind of. Really.

 

Jason sighs.

 

“Look. Drink the slushie, don’t drink the slushie. I got them because you mentioned them.” It’s kind of weird to admit that, actually. For so long, Jason has just been doing things for him. Buy groceries for him. Spend his money on him. Beat the knee caps of some criminal to smithereens because— Actually, mostly he did that for other people, but still, getting anger out was as much for his benefit too.

 

“This is… Weird. I’m sorry. There’s a part of me I don’t really know anymore who knows a part of you who doesn’t exist anymore and I can’t—” Connor chews on his lip, thinking. “It’s hard to differentiate them. I don’t know.” He admits, eyes on the orange slushie in front of him now, then flicking to Jason’s.

 

It’s like a punch in the gut. The sun is rising behind Connor and it’s lighting his hair up in a beautiful pink light, the shirt he’d borrowed from Jason is slipping down his collarbones, and Jason’s reminded of a day in the sun long long ago, where Connor smiled at him brightly and curled his fingers around Jason’s and they talked about how they couldn’t wait to take their dad’s places in the League because they thought they could do a better job.

 

“I get it. I’m sorry, I am, it’s just… That Jason died. For real. And this Jason, me now, that’s who I am. And I’m not in a place to talk about it with one of my old recently discovered best friends.” Jason says, and with that he bends to get into the car, panic rising in his throat, eyes on the convenience store ahead as he fastened his seat belt with shaking hands, discarding the pst cards on the dashboard in front of him.

 

Some moments later Connor, juggling the slushies that Jason by this point had forgotten about – which was funny, because it was those that had started the conversation outside the car in the first place – plops himself in the passenger seat, huffing out a breath of air as he carefully places them in the cupholders between their two seats and did up his own seat belt.

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the car silent around them as the world wakes up.

 

Connor breaks the silence, his voice small.

 

“We’re both a bit fucked up, aren’t we?” He asks, fingers tracing the dust that has collected on the aircon outlets.

 

Jason laughs, though not because it was funny, and starts the car.

 

“Yeah. Just a little.”


	5. Five

The slushie tastes awful, like putting a straw in a can of corn syrup and just sucking. Jason’s tongue, teeth and lips are blue by the time he’s slurping the last remnants of it out of the straw, and Connor watches him out of the corner of his eye as he munches on the bag of pretzels Jason had packed in the third bag of theirs.

“You’re gonna be on a sugar high for like four hours, then crash, then not want to drive.” Connor tells him, his own slushie half-drunk and joining the pile of discarded drinks with his coffee they forgot to throw out at the gas station, and Jason just scowls at it and thinks better of making a joke about Connor’s grazing habits.

“I’m fine. I have a fast metabolism.” Jason tells him, and Connor snorts.

“Funny. You and the rest of my sophomore gym class. You know, everyone except me.” Connor says, and Jason grins.

“What can I say? Malnutrition at a young age fucks with your body but sometimes in a way that lets you get a six pack after only four months of vigorous training with Batman, instead of six.” Jason tells him and doesn’t miss how Connor’s face scrunches up. 

“What?” Jason asks, and Connor sighs, folds the top of the pretzel bag closed and chucks it on the dashboard.

“Nothing. Was a too-salty pretzel. Anyways, am I expected to live on dried carby goods for the next three days or are we planning on stopping for lunch?”

“What, you needing a Happy Meal for you to take three bites of before you’re full?” Jason asks, and Connor swats his hand against his thigh.

“Ha ha. So funny. I was actually thinking of getting something resembling like a vegetable? Maybe fruit? You know, healthy stuff?”

“I packed apples.”

“I don’t like apples.”

“You… Who doesn’t like apples?” Jason asks, turns his head to stare at Connor. It’s midday near about, the sun boring down on them, Jason’s arm probably getting more tanned by the second where he’s stuck it out the window, the aircon doing nothing more than pushing the hot air in the car around.

He should have bought the Mazda instead, but Jason isn’t about to admit that to Connor.

“I don’t like them. Unless they’re cut up in little pieces, I have a fear I’m gonna lose a tooth if I bite into it.” Connor admits, then makes a perplexed look that scrunches up his whole face. Jason wishes, just for a fleeting second, that Connor would make a similar face of wonder because of him.

“Huh. That’s a new one.” Connor says, mostly to himself but loud enough for Jason to admit, and Jason hums.

“I’ll write it down. Or you can, I think there’s a pad in one of those bags if you want to.” Jason says, then has to laugh – here he is, trying to help his friend get over his trauma, when he can’t even follow his own advice.

Whatever. He’s a big boy. How he chooses to use Talia’s past advice is up to him.

“It looks like we’re on this stretch of road for a while. I’ll let you know when something comes up on the map though.” Jason tells him and pauses when he catches Connor looking at him.

“That okay?”

Connor seems to catch himself and nods his head.

“What? Yes. Yeah. Fine. Sorry I just- I know you said to drop it but when your eyes do that green thing… They look nice. Like… Good. On you. They suit you I guess. Sorry.” Connor says, cheeks pinking the more he talks, and Jason can feel his own cheeks heating too.

He’s never thought of them like that. Barely even seen his own reflection when his eyes flash the same green as the Lazarus Pit, always thought they made him look crazy or scary or wild, and he can’t begin to imagine why Connor would think opposite.

“I uh. Right.” Is all Jason has to say, turns his head out of the window so Connor can’t see his own facial expression. He can see Connor out of his peripheral; one hand has slipped to rest on the middle console, his other leaning on the passenger window. His face watching Jason.

Jason clears his throat.

“We have some more driving to do, if you want to nap again.” Jason says, finally faces his head back towards the stretching roads in front of them. There’s signage for upcoming roadworks and destination times to various landmarks as they exit the state.

“I’m not tired, but thanks.” Is all Connor says, voice timid, and Jason hesitates before deciding to drop it. It’s difficult; Jason looks at this boy and remembers an out-spoken pre-teen who idolised his father and the world he got to be a part of just as much as him. Jason thinks of himself back then – cheeky, always giving Alfred hassle but knowing he could get away with it. The constant underlying fear that Bruce would turn around and tell him he couldn’t do this anymore, something Connor wouldn’t ever have to face because Oliver was his real dad.

A lump forms in Jason’s throat at the thought of Bruce, like it always does when he remembers him. This one tastes sad, like denial. It stings.

He wonders what happens to Connor. He remembers him being alive when he was, but he’s not entirely sure how long he’s been like…this. Quiet and reserved and jumpy, like he’s waiting for something to happen. Jason is curious, but he doesn’t want to ask – asking Connor about his off days could lead to Connor wondering about his, and those are things he would prefer to forget about.

“Hey. You have music on your phone we could play or something?” Connor asks, pulls Jason out of the rabbit hole he was close to falling down, and Jason squints at his battery level before nodding.

“Uh… A little bit. I don’t know if you’ll like it though.’

“Don’t tell me – MCR and Spice Girls, just like the old days?” Connor asks, eyes brightening, and Jason shakes his head.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, it’s just… Your music taste really does leave something to be desired, you know?” Connor teases, and then he’s reaching across Jason. A thick hand resting on Jason’s knee, body over body, long and lean arm reaching to pull the phone out of the Bluetooth holder. Jason gets a whiff of his shampoo in Connor’s hair; doesn’t understand why the short-lasting after smell gets him a little bit dizzy, and then Connor is sitting back in his own seat, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s sent Jason’s head spinning.

He finally settles on a song, throws the phone into a compartment underneath the broken radio, and the opening notes to an old Metallica number fill the car. It sends Jason reeling, back to a time where he’d lie on his bed doing his homework, his music playing out of the tape recorder Bruce had passed onto him after Dick never seemed to have any use for it, the smell of whatever Alfred was cooking downstairs wafting through the Manor hallways as usual.

Connor is leaning back in his seat, neck exposed, fingers tapping on his thigh and eyes closed; almost looks peaceful, except for the furrow between his brows. Jason tightens his grip on the steering wheel, winds the window down with his other hand, and tries with every fibre of his being to push the image of Connor’s smile at him earlier out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this after this chapter is when the story begins to pick up. Thanks for still reading if any of you are keeping up with this!!


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